


Adrenaline Rush

by jimikat



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, never gonna give you up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimikat/pseuds/jimikat
Summary: Octane’s prosthetic limb is damaged beyond repair. But Mirage isn’t leaving without him.
Relationships: Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Adrenaline Rush

**Author's Note:**

> I did a little mini comic for Smutember’s “adrenaline rush” theme, and decided to turn it into a little one-off. :)
> 
> I definitely don’t speak Spanish so if anything is off, please let me know. <3

“Ai, _mierda_!” Octane gasps through gritted teeth. “Fuck, shit, fuck!”

The pain ripping through his leg was one thing. Pain he could handle. He did a lot of dumb shit without worrying too much about the pain.

The mangled mess of blood-splattered metal attached to that leg, however, is less manageable. Especially as the ring begins to close in.

“Octane? You good?” the voice comes through the comms, trying at bravado. Octane can hear the concern in his voice.

“My leg’s busted, _compadre_. Think I’m done for.”

“Busted? H-how bad busted? You can still walk, right? Right? … Octane?”

Octane looks down at the mess of rent metal. Walking is definitely not on the table anymore, let alone running. And running is exactly what needs to happen if either of them are gonna get out of here on time.

“Yeah, ain’t gonna happen,” Octane sighs, his finger tapping his thigh impatiently. God, he hated just… _sitting_ here, doing nothing.

“What about a syringe? O-or a stim?”

Octane laughs coldly, nudging what is left of the prosthetic leg with his other foot. “Don’t think a stim is gonna help this one... Hey, don’t worry about me, Mirage. I—”

Octane is cut off as a figure leaps over the metal crates he’d been hiding behind. Mirage lands roughly, curses as he staggers, then scrambles back towards his teammate. He presses his back against the metal crates, trying not to look quite as out of breath as he feels. He flashes Octane a laboured grin.

“Oh, hey there, stranger. Fancy m-meeting you here. You, uh, you come here often?” Mirage tries at a laugh, but his eyes are drifting down Octane’s form, from the smashed out right lens of his goggles down to the ugly patch of red on his thigh, then the mutilated prosthetic limb. His face twists in a cringe.

“Yeesh. You weren’t kiddin’, kid. You look like shit,” Mirage grimaces. Octane sniffs with a scowl. He hates when Mirage calls him that. He isn’t _that_ much younger…

“You don’t look so great yourself,” Octane pouts.

Well, sure, yeah, he’s not wrong. Mirage definitely looks a little worse for the wear, his face smudged with dirt and smoke. A thin slice from a grazed bullet rips his sleeve, and a few of his decoy nodes got the worse end of a poor landing early in the match.

“W-what do I need to do to help? Do you have, like, a spare, or—” Mirage stutters, looking around desperately as if another leg will just be peeking around a corner or stashed in an unopened loot bin. Maybe clutched in the maw of a Flyer.

“Of course I don’t have a spare!” Octane says, exasperated. He reaches for Mirage, tugging him close by the strap across his chest. “Just get outta here, the ring’s close. Just leave me behind, man, it’s fine.”

MIrage’s expression tightens as Octane stares up at him, hazel eyes wide and fervent. Erm, well, _eye_. He can only see one. Geez, his eye sure is… pretty. Like, intense and… have his eyes always been so shiny? He’s seen the kid out of the mask a few times, but he can’t quite remember.

“F-forget it, Octane,” Mirage stumbles out. “We’ll figure something out, just gotta—”

Octane lets go of him, gritting his teeth and leaning back against the crate. He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Trying to breathe away the pain in his thigh. Everything’s fine. Mirage is making a big deal out of nothing. He can see the ring approaching. Mirage just needs to fucking leave.

“It’s not like I’ll really die,” Octane says with a sigh. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Mirage’s breath catches. His brows knit together, he sucks his lower lip in just a bit. He scrambles to his feet and for just a second Octane thinks he’s actually going to go. But he crouches down, slipping one arm under Octane’s knees, the other behind his torso and easily hoists him up. Octane yelps in surprise, looking up into Mirage’s caramel eyes, squinting down at him with concern.

“M-matters to me, T-t-tav,” Mirage says thickly.

Octane can feel his heart pounding against his chest, can feel the flush of warmth spread over his cheeks. He feels like he just ran a marathon, warm and tingly and way more of a rush than any stim could give him. And if a giant death ring weren’t barreling towards them, he might have just ripped off his mask and pulled Mirage into an earth-shattering kiss.

Mirage jostles him up into a more secure hold, his hand gripping Octane’s side, holding him tight against his chest.

“We do this together,” Mirage says, pressing a hasty kiss into Octane’s temple. “M’never gonna leave you behind.”

Octane’s breath catches, the one lens still intact fogging up as his face flashes hot. “J-just go, _gilipollas_!”

“H-hey, Tav?” Mirage huffs as he starts to run. “You, uh… you wanna get a drink at my bar tonight? Complum-complo-coplimum… uh, on the house.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. That’d be… that’d be cool.”

Mirage’s face twists into a dopey grin, and Octane swears he feels a spring in the trickster’s step. The man isn’t exactly fast. Octane knows they’re never gonna make it. But nestled against his chest, looking up at his desperate, struggling face as he starts to breath heavily from exertion, thinking about getting a drink with him tonight... he doesn’t really care.

* * *

**Here’s the comic I made that I based this off of. :)**


End file.
